Life is Like That

      I'm sitting at a new coffee shop in a strange town that oddly feels like home.  I've brought my kids here to see their friends and to participate in spiritual refreshment and community service.  I'm supposed to be in a meeting, too.  But I'm playing hooky.  Today didn't suit sitting in a meeting.  It called for soul nurturing. So I'm reflecting.  I'm thinking about my garden and what a metaphor for life it is.
      This is a particularly yummy year for my garden.  Some of my perennials are starting to flourish and I'm realizing some long held dreams for this spot of earth.  My pear tree is blossoming (above).  I bought it as a spindly little thing a few years ago.  Now every graft has set on a flourish of blossoms.  I'm told I'll have to pick off much of the fruit this year.  Its best for the tree to put more energy into the roots.  It also makes the fruit that is left bigger.  I don't like culling and thinning.  Its not in my nature, but it is an important skill every gardener must develop. How like life!

 My apple tree also blossomed.  Those are golden delicious apples in the making.  I got so excited I popped down to my favorite local nursery and bought two more. You can roll your eyes.  Its okay.  I know I need help.

 We found some great sources for garden amendments this spring.  A local dairy boasts hormone/antibiotic-free, well-aged manure, so some gardening friends and I lined up trucks to be loaded.  Then Brother Schnickelfritz found a great source for llama manure.  We hauled a lot of wheelbarrow loads of poop onto the garden.  One day you are wallowing in poop.  The next, good things are growing.  Life.

 My strawberry patch is having mixed results.  Half of it is crazy productive.  Within a week or so, we'll have a heavy crop of juicy berries that are completely unmatched by anything you can find in the supermarket.  Half of the patch got a bad start last year and I had to replant.  Life is like that.

My father-in-law gave me a large amount of raspberry canes last year.  I planted them and watched them anxiously while they decided whether (or not) to put down their roots.  I couldn't be sure.  Last fall the visible part was so-so.  But in the turning of winter to spring, life burst out of them You can't be sure what is going on underneath, you know. Life is like that, too.